


Happy Place

by sarahcakes613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Kink Meme, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6764284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a valar_morekinks prompt: Sansa loves to go down on Margaery in religious places like the Great Sept of Baelor, under the weirwood tree in the godswood of Winterfell, and the Starry Sept in Oldtown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Place

The Northmen believe there is no place for the Seven Gods in the North. Theirs are the Old Gods, and the Old Gods are theirs.

Sansa believes in the Old Gods of her father but loves to worship the Maiden. Right now, the Maiden is lying in the snow in front of her, skirts rucked up to her waist and skin flushed with arousal. Margaery is the very image of the Maiden in the Winterfell sept and Sansa is prepared to worship like she never has before.

Sansa leans over Margaery until her mouth is mere inches from Margaery’s belly, and exhales. Her hot breath hits the cold air and wisps of fog waft over Margaery’s skin. Margaery inhales sharply, her muscles contracting as she feels Sansa’s warm mouth descend onto her skin.

Sansa trails her hands down Margaery’s body from her stomach, down to her thighs, down to her mound, and she is careful to drop gentle kisses on every patch of skin her fingers touch. She can feel how tense Margaery is, her muscles taut and the hair on her mound damp with sweat. Sansa leans in closer, deeply inhaling Margaery’s scent. She smells like cinnamon and honey, like the honeyed wine they had shared at supper. As Sansa nuzzles at Margaery’s vulva, she senses more than feels as Margaery slowly relaxes, her legs spreading further apart to allow Sansa access to her opening folds. 

Sansa pauses to rearrange herself in the snow, and in that moment Margaery whines, reaching out to bring Sansa back down. Sansa laughs and lowers herself down and back to the sweetness between Margaery’s legs.

Sansa reaches out to caress Margaery’s lips, her fingers stroking them as her thumb slides between them to feel the wetness within. There is a hitch in Margaery’s breathing, and she whines again, and lifts her hips in an effort to bring herself closer to Sansa’s mouth. Sansa smiles at that, and decides to finally reward her beautiful Maiden with a kiss.

Sansa lowers her mouth until it is level with Margaery’s lips, and places a close-mouthed kiss at the top, where she can see Margaery’s pearl peeking out. She crooks her thumb to slick the wetness up to Margaery’s pearl and down to to her cleft. Sansa lifts two fingers to her mouth and sucks on them liberally, then gently lets them fall between Margaery’s lips, spreading them open so that her inner flower is revealed.

Sansa glorifies in the sight of Margaery’s pink, her pearl glistening on display, the shimmer of wetness emerging from her cleft. This is a prize made for worshipping, and Sansa is the most devout of disciples. From the corner of her eye, she sees the great weeping eyes of the Weirwood tree watching them silently, and she whispers a prayer of thanks for the treasure laid out in front of her. The red leaves blow, though there is no breeze.

Sansa kisses the folds of Margaery’s lips, brings one and then the other into her mouth and gently suckles and nips at them, listening to Margaery’s gasps for guidance. She moves in deeper, nose pressed against Margaery’s nub, she can feel it throbbing against her and she wriggles her nose, thrilled when the reward is a stifled moan from Margaery.

Sansa slides her tongue out and over Margaery’s spread lips, up one side and down the other in long, broad swipes. She sucks at the wetness dripping out of Margaery, and slowly thrusts her tongue into Margaery’s crevice, working her tongue in and out as Margaery trembles beneath her. Margaery is sopping wet now, and Sansa laps at her pink folds and down to her cleft over and over, anxious not to miss a single taste of this sweet godly nectar. For it is godly, Sansa is sure of it, nothing could be so delicious that wasn’t blessed by both the Old Gods and the New.

Margaery is moaning in earnest now, thrusting her hips repeatedly up at Sansa. Her hands are clutching at her skirt, at the snow, in Sansa’s hair, and when Sansa’s tongue drags slowly up to Margaery’s hard little button, Sansa feels her hair being tugged on to the point of sharp tingles running up her spine, and she feels her own smallclothes dampening in response. Sansa alternately flattens and points her tongue against that little nub, and simultaneously first one and then a second finger into Margaery’s centre, slowly working them in and out, speeding up in time with Margaery’s breathless gasps.

Sansa pulls back to look at Margaery, spread out in the snow like an offering to the Gods of Winter. Margaery’s hands have returned to grasping ineffectually at her skirt while Sansa’s fingers continue to move in and out of Margaery’s core.

Margaery reaches for Sansa again, and Sansa allows herself to be drawn back down to Margaery’s nectar. She replaces her thrusting fingers with her tongue, again drinking in the honeyed taste of her Maiden come to life, and shifts so that her free hand brushes up against Margaery’s nub. Margaery pants at that, so Sansa continues to softly flick Margaery’s nub while her tongue continues to push into Margaery and her nose is right up in Margaery and all of Sansa’s senses are full up of Margaery, all she can taste and see and smell and feel and hear is Margaery’s skin and gasps and tangy salty sweat and Sansa is on her belly now, one hand on Margaery and her other hand in her own smallclothes as she rubs herself in unison with her tongue on Margaery.

The smell of Margaery’s arousal is stronger now, and her thrusts have become erratic and stuttered. Sansa can see through her eyelashes that Margaery has one fist up to her mouth, stifling her squeals and Sansa murmurs for her to let go, let the whole of the North hear her pleasure, and Margaery screams now, loud enough that Sansa is sure they can hear it clear over the other side of the Wall. Margaery is peaking now, her shapely ass lifted into the air, pushing her vulva against Sansa’s mouth, as Sansa licks her through her orgasm, slowing her thrusts as Margaery’s body slackens and her screams quieten down into soft moans. Sansa allows herself one last broad stroke of the tongue before pulling back to allow Margaery time to recover from the overall assault on her senses.

Sansa looks up at the Weirwood tree. The tree has not changed, but where before Sansa saw in it’s face an expression of neutrality, she thinks she now sees an air of acceptance, of gratitude for this sacrificial offering she has made.


End file.
